Wednesday, June 24, 2009

The Silence of the Lamb

photo courtesy hamex iranian

in iran a single chant
"natarsim natarsim, ma hame ba ham hastim
all over tehran echoes
only the supreme counciil of tyranny
does not know
to the voice of the people
the will of the people
no respect does it show
baton wielding basiji
kicks slaps and blows
a crusade for justice and truth
a mandate of the people
will eventually overthrow
the silence of the lamb
from every blog overflows
facebook flickr twitter
poetry pictures and prose


photo courtesy
hamex iranian

they who stole the votes
in the darkness of treachery
to keep themselves afloat
using the will and the voice
of the Iranian people
as sacrificial goat
spiritual terrorism
the accursed basijis
cut throats
on the streets of Tehran
a battle for Truth
the people fought
Peace A New Dawn
of Iran
to promote
on the souls of the tyrants
from time immemorial
God wrote
“Meejangam, Meemeeram, rayam-o-pass meegeeram”
“I will fight, I will die, I will get my vote back.”
to quote

A Curse Called the Basiji of Iran

This story pictures courtesy salon news @Mike Madden link given by Steve Kowalchuck Facebook..

The torture of a 17-year-old in Iran

A teenager's story, with graphic photos, of abuse at the hands of Iran's religious paramilitaries, the Basij
Editor's note: Salon has obtained an e-mail, written in Farsi, circulating among Iranian American activists that tells the story of a 17-year-old boy who says he was tortured by government agents in Tehran. The e-mail, with attached photos of the victim, was sent by a friend of the boy's after his release. Though it's unclear exactly when the events in the story happened, the e-mail arrived in the U.S. late last week. The activist who forwarded it to Salon wanted it published to show what's happening as Iran is gripped by ongoing protests and a harsh government crackdown. The message was translated by a different Salon source, who raised some questions about a few specific details in the narrative -- the boy says he was moved around more than seems to make sense; at times he seems to confuse the police with the Basij paramilitaries; and, especially, his belief that non-Iranians were assisting in the abuse, a rampant but unsubstantiated rumor in Iran and among exiles. But the translator said some confusion is understandable for a scared teenager in his situation: "It is obvious that he was tortured."

To protect the people involved and their friends and family in Iran, Salon is not identifying those who sent or translated the message. The first paragraph below is the introduction circulating with the story, and the rest is from the boy.

By Mike Madden

June 24, 2009 | The pictures you are about to see are not from someone who supports anarchy, he is not even a part of the "DUST" that Ahmadinejad called his opponents. He is just a 17-year-old boy who was supposed to take the university entrance exam within a month before his fingers were broken and the finger webs were cut with a blade. He was arrested violently in the parking lot of a living complex without even taking part in any of the recent activities, and after more than 24 hours he returned home while his face was fully covered with blood and one could only see his eyes. These pictures are taken hours after his return home, his bruised face and broken nose cannot be shown due to his and his parents fear from the security guards. This is a summary of his story:

"It was around 12:30 a.m., and I was with my friend, his brother and his brother's wife. We were talking right in front of his place, which is about 2 to 3 blocks away from my place, while a group of people escaping entered the alley and took refuge in houses with open doors. My friends' place is in the middle of the alley so nobody took refuge there, and we went in and closed the doors. His brother and his wife went in building and asked me to join them as well, but since I was not feeling comfortable with his family, my friend and I stayed out in the parking."

"All of a sudden agents in black uniforms and helmets carrying batons broke the door and entered. We tried to hide behind the big trash bin at the end of the parking but one of them saw us, whistled and informed the rest of them who were just leaving the parking. It was just baton strikes all over my body after that, and we were transferred to the minus 4 level of Ministry of Intelligence building. There were a lot of riot police in black uniforms like those on the streets there. They were mostly non-Farsi speakers, and those who spoke Farsi kept telling us they could kill us right away and no one would ever know, they were also insulting us with very bad words."

"One of them asked me if Mr. Khatami would come save us, while they were breaking my fingers and cutting the finger webs. Although I swore a thousand times that I had not voted and had never participated in any demonstration, they didn't care and just kept beating me hard. I fainted once or twice but there were some of us who fainted every time their bones were broken, and as soon as they gained their consciousness, the riot police started beating them again. I was trying to contract my muscles to avoid further bone fracture."

"This continued till around 1 p.m., when they took us to another place, where security guards were in charge. We were then interrogated by the militia. Again, they kept beating me although I told them that I have never participated in any demonstration. In general, they were less harsh than the previous ones. In the evening, we were transferred to a police station where normal police with green uniform hung us by our hands (you can see the signs of the string around my wrists on the pictures), they hung some of us upside down and started beating us again."

"Around 2 AM, they took us to a police hospital where they just stitched the web of my fingers that were still bleeding and bandaged my head without any stitches. They released us in a highway, I think they knew we did nothing; otherwise they would not release us. I am surprised how I tolerated all the tortures and survived. I didn't see anyone dying there; a lot of people just lost their consciousness, but I guess the baton strikes were so harsh that brain injury or internal bleeding was inevitable. I can never forget the scenes I saw there."

Enough Dont Desecrate the Burqa Anymore

In your country do what you have to do
ban the burqa but don't desecrate it anymore
you the modern nobility of France
for you the Burqa a garment of oppression
a garment of subservience
for us our spiritual second skin and more
stop your racial profiling your irresponsible
racist remarks off the cuff for sure
as Muslim women we implore
get your head checked
prevention is better than cure
dont put Ms Carla Bruni in a Burqa
a thought our hearts wont endure
she is far too pretty and demure
as for us within the walls of our Burqa
we are spiritually morally secure
our path to freedom clean and pure

The Resilient Muslim Race

The resilient
Muslim race
it falls it rises
hardships calamity
it will face
but collectively calm
by Gods grace
to Peace and Brotherhood trace
indeed God is Great
a chant from the minaret always
Truth Justice Tolerance embrace
another mans religion
wont deface
living as Indians
giving other
Indians breathing space
through sectarian strife
sectarian hate
this religion
they have tried to erase
the enemies of Islam
are not outside
but within
they will one day
fall into place
the Holy Message
of Humanity
will once again
become their base
live and lets others
live peacefully
this planet a momentary
nesting place
for the final journey
when we meet him
in sheer human humility
face to face
Islam from a Muslim
or a Muslim from Islam
you simply cant replace

The Narrow Lanes of Hell

the narrow lanes of hell
the unfortunate
the miserable
the homeless
the houseless
of Behrampada Bandra East
now on the pavements dwell
through my pictures of despair
the story of their pain I tell
where there is hope there is life
soon they will get well
only god can sound their death knell
they will rise as they fell
breaking free from the hands
of the devil

Behrampada Cries

the death toll on the rise
building towers of babel
man pays a ransom twice
buried under the rubble
his family lies
on the soul of humanity
behrampada cries
as someone dies
living in ghettos
they pay the price
pound foolish and penny wise
fate like a gambler
a loaded dice
winning the game in disguise
the scourge of the monsoon
over their heads it flies
raindrops lashing their spirits
the flesh survives
man walking a trapeze
of a double edged knife
death where is thy sting
take my life

dedicated to tom andrews who saved my life once..

Dust to Dust Ashes to Ashes

All gone ...
dust to dust ashes to ashes.
.more pain and sorrow
the human soul encashes
in the minds eye
the burning machines
the bales of fabric
surmounting losses
as lightning flashes
a world of profit
a world of hard work
to the ground crashes
on the vulnerable fragile soul
some more godly lashes
bleeding flesh some more gashes